She glares at me, and I can’t seem to help the smile that spreads across my face. There’s something about riling her up that makes me feel like I just won a fight on the ice.
“I mean, I’m not going to stop calling you that—you are the Ice Queen—but I think I get it. I’ve felt the need to succeed, to be perfect,” I say. “It might not be the same pressures, but the results are the same.”
“It’s not just about succeeding. It’s about paving the way for the women and girls who come after me. About making sure that nothing I do looks bad for women.”
I study her. “That sounds really hard. To feel like the success of your entire gender is on your shoulders.” I reach out and place my hand over hers. Electricity sparks between us, and we both jump, jerking away from each other.
“Sorry,” I apologize. “I just mean I could see how it would be hard. I can’t imagine the expectations.” I stare at her as she picks at her food. “Would you feel less like you’re in coach mode if I call you Finley?”
The name feels weird rolling off my tongue.
“That’s the problem, I don’t think Icancome out of coach mode for this. I’m only here because someone decided it falls under ‘other duties as assigned’ in my job description. So yeah… Ialwayshave to be in coach mode.”
“Not when it’s just us. You can just be… you.”
She considers it, her gaze scanning me as if looking for signs that I’m not being sincere. “That would be… nice. But only when it’s us.” Her eyes gleam, amused. “The first time you call me Finley in front of anyone, I’m forcing you to do sprints until you puke, and then I am benching you for the next game.”
I chuckle. She drives a hard bargain. “I can agree to that… Finley.”
“Well, thanks… Beckett.”
The conversation turns lighter then, as we talk about growing up playing hockey. The injuries and experiences. Finley shares a little about what it was like growing up with a Hall of Fame coach for a dad. I tell her my dad played hockey, too, though she clearly already knew that from my bio. My ribs hurt from laughing when she tells me about having to do sprints for showing up late during her first few weeks of college. Her roommate had hidden her skates in retaliation after Finley punched the girl’s boyfriend when he snuck into their room in the middle of the night.
“So you were fun in college?” I tease. Finley might just be more fun than Coach Blake.
She smiles. “Not as ‘fun’ as I’m sure you were. I saw the puck bunnies who lingered outside the rink for the men’s hockey team.”
There’s a tug in my chest, a feeling like we’ve actually made some kind of breakthrough here.
Except not the one we actually needed, which was figuring out what our talents are. I know I disagreed with Finley’s assertion that she only had hockey-based talents, but I have no idea whatelse we cando. The only time I’ve tried anything else was… college.
“Oh! Maybe I do have an idea for the talent show. So, in college,” I start hesitantly.
Finley quirks her eyebrow, her expression suggesting she’s following that train of thought down the puck-bunny path from earlier.
I lift my own eyebrows suggestively, willing to go along with her teasing.
“I don’t think they’ll let us dothatin the theater,” she says, a belly laugh chasing out the words. And fuck. Now all I can imagine is laying her out on a stage and giving her the show of a lifetime. Though not with the entire team watching and cameras rolling. I’m very fucking possessive and do not share well.
“Beckett.” Finley snaps in front of my face.
I jolt, my mind returning to the conversation. “Right. Anyway. So, in college.” I pause, daring her to make it sexual again. “I needed an elective, and my only option for the timeslot I had available was dance.”
Finley laughs again. “No way.”
“Yeah, I mean, it’s supposed to help with coordination and—”
She holds up her hands. “I wasn’t judging. I took dance in college, too.”
I stare at her. She stares at me.
Damn her eyes for looking like that.
“So we’re dancing?” I finally suggest, pulling my gaze from hers.
She shakes her head. “Only if you did something other than ballet, because I can assure you, Iwill notbe getting up on any stage in a tutu.”
“They’d be able to add a Yeti tutu to the team store, though,” I joke. “Think of how much Sabrina would love that.”
